


Willie and his Santa Claus

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Suicide, New Year's Eve, Pining Sherlock, Redbeard - Freeform, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sad Sherlock, Sad with a Happy Ending, Santa Claus - Freeform, Second Chances, happy jim, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13190055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: It's New Year's Eve and Sherlock has a near midlife crisis. He's alone and nobody has time for him, except for Santa Claus whose identity he had always known but never believed!





	Willie and his Santa Claus

_Will you still love me When I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me When I've got nothing but my aching soul?_

 

Normally such lyrics, sentiment-sodden and weak-sounding, or the rather emotionally drawn out tunes sung in the marvellous Lana Del Ray voice, would have made Sherlock Holmes smirk and wisecrack about how ordinary people needed pathetic little excuses and gestures in order to feel good about themselves. It would have made him bitch and moan that caring and love were not strengths but follies and foibles.

 

But that year, as he sat alone on New Year’s Eve, he wondered if he had fallen into the same trap he so abhorred other people stepping into. He had watched this happen to John, to Molly, to Lestrade, to many clients, even to Mrs. Hudson and Phil Andersen, and each time he felt like smacking those people so they got some sense knocked into their heads. He could see their images in the room now, laughing at him and trying to smack him and tell him to walk his talk. He couldn’t blame them if that’s what they really wanted to do because he did act like a lovesick puppy nowadays!

 

Ever since Jim Moriarty had committed ‘suicide’ on the Barts rooftop, Sherlock had felt huge changes in his life, thoughts and aspirations. While initially it was a relief, he had started to miss the man even as he took his web down. It seemed too easy, too coincidental that things fell into place the moment he arrived and too convenient. Even Mycroft didn’t escape his suspicion at times and he repeatedly asked the man about Jim.

 

Every time the response was ‘We buried him in an unnamed and unknown location. This information is classified.’

 

As time had passed, Sherlock hadn’t met an intellectual equivalent. Magnussen was an ass and killing him had given Sherlock no pleasure. Eurus, though brilliant, was also his sister and she was now catatonic. She wasn’t someone who’d ever discuss cases or play games with Sherlock anymore.

 

Slowly the boredom and longing had turned into sadness and the sadness in turn had converted into a slow burning grief in the pits of his stomach.

 

He was going to turn forty in January, in a few days from now. It had been a little over seven years since he had last seen Jim. Time was running out. He was no longer young but approaching middle age. He began to seriously doubt if he would ever see Moriarty again.

 

With a sigh he settled out over the couch and closed his eyes.

 

He remembered those times when, as a kid, his mum had told him there was a ‘Santa Claus’. He had argued with her that the fat man was too fat to get down their chimney so if there was one for real, he might have broken in and should be arrested right away.

 

“He always gives you what you deserve Willie,” she had mentioned, “Like you have a new Redbeard now.”

 

His friend’s loss still haunted him, especially since those old memories had been dug up all thanks to Eurus, but the fond memory of the little puppy that was gifted to him on a Christmas day brought a smile to his face. He remembered calling him by some name, definitely not Redbeard though, but some other name which he couldn’t immediately recollect…..

 

There was something definitely in his eye. Why were they suddenly so misty? There was also a little problem with his tonsils, if the sudden ache in his throat was any proof. Maybe he was just sinking into depression or maybe there was just a physical problem which caused these little symptoms. Oh damn, now he felt flutters in his stomach, as if a whole garden of butterflies had settled in there. Sherlock made a groaning sound and rolled over, burying his face in the cushions and hoping to wake up in the past. In the past when he was a little boy and could unabashedly ask ‘Santa Claus’ for something he deserved.

 

He deserved one more chance! He deserved to get Jim back.

 

Suddenly, inexplicably, unexpectedly, a flood of tears descended from his eyes and he began to sob like a child. A part of him kept rebuking him for being weak, stupidly nostalgic, unmanly, but a larger part of him needed this catharsis. He hadn’t cried since Jim had passed/disappeared and through these tears, it was like his soul was cleansing itself somehow.

 

“What is the matter with you Sherlock?”

 

“N-Nothing….actually everything…..I am so alone.”

 

“I thought alone protects you.”

 

“Not from my demons. I need to use….but I promised to stay clean.”

 

“So to get rid of demons you wanna embrace the devil?”

 

“WHAT THE HELL DO I DO THEN?” Sherlock cried out brokenly, still face down on the couch and breathing through his sobs, “John lives here but he has his life, he’s taken a vacation with his daughter, Mycroft has Lestrade now, mummy and daddy have each other, Molly has a boyfriend, even Mrs. Hudson has her circle of pals and look at me…..I am forty, successful, brilliant, lonely, reclusive, no relationships, no intellectual peer, nobody to really talk to…..leave me alone, why are you talking to me?”

 

“Who do you think I am?”

“My fucking imagination. Who else will be chatting with me while I sleep?”

 

“Language young man! And you’re not asleep, look up, sit up, let’s see the snot-nosed child you’ve managed to become!”

 

Sherlock sprang up, “Stop calling me…..MUMMY!”

 

Mrs. Holmes stood smiling amusedly at her son. She was at the door, dressed elegantly as usual and adequately for the cold weather. Her face was shining brightly with happiness, something had definitely delighted her. It couldn’t be her son’s misery though, Sherlock knew her and trusted her enough to believe she had unconditional love for him and would never be happy to see him suffer. “H-How did you….I mean when did you come to London? Why didn’t you tell me?” He stood up, aware of how pathetic he looked with tears streaks on his cheeks and upper lips shining with saliva, a bit of snot actually about to drip out of his nostrils.

 

“I-I am….”

 

“I didn’t give you a present for Christmas,” Mrs. Holmes went straight to the kitchen, “Okay, I hope you have tea, milk, sugar. I intend to have some tea, want some?”

 

“Yeah….whatever,” Sherlock flopped back down on the couch, “So where is it?”

 

“Where is what?”

 

“My present.”

 

“Did you ask for one?”

“No, I don’t need anything.”

 

“I agree you don’t need anything. But are you sure you need no one?”

 

Sherlock sighed and reconsidered his options. While he thought, he heard the kettle whistling and his mother talking to someone on the phone. When she was done, she peered out of the kitchen and asked, “Have you thought about it? When you were a boy I always told this time of the year was a time for miracles, blessings, togetherness. How about you ask something totally outlandish? Maybe I can still get you that Willie.”

 

Sherlock felt gutted. Why would mummy be so cruel?

 

“You know that’s impossible, right? And don’t call me Willie.”

“What is impossible?”

 

“Getting him back.”

 

“Why is it impossible?”

 

“People don’t come back from the dead mummy. I don’t need a zombie at my doorstep or some delusional hope of time travel.”

 

“Now imagine you could time travel, what would you have done differently?”

 

Sherlock buried his face in his hands and started speaking. “I would have tried to know him better, tried to parley, walk half distance and meet him there, try to understand why he did what he did. I wouldn’t have told Mycroft to hold him in preventive custody or at least checked on him to see what was being done. After Irene was sent to me, he gave me a message that I was a virgin. I should have known that he wanted me, I could have at least called and asked him to meet me alone…..that last time he was with me, I could have lunged for that gun and just taken it away and….and……and…..”

 

Sherlock broke down again.

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk about him.”

 

“Willie.”

 

“It hurts. Try to understand. It hurts. I was stupid then but wisdom is slowly coming to me and it hurts so much to realize how wrong I was…..”

 

“Sherlock stop wallowing in self-pity and look up.”

 

Sherlock looked up.

 

He saw Jim.

 

Jim Moriarty.

 

The same man who had died in front of his eyes clutching a gun in his hand and dressed in a fine Westwood suit. He was standing there, wearing a dark suit, tie and an expensive Prada overcoat. His skin was the same, unlined and smooth. His eyes were the same, dark and lovely. Only his hairs appeared different. They were not slicked back into a coif but fashionably rumpled, and longer.

 

“J-Jim….Mummy….I am not feeling well.”

 

“I am your Christmas present Sherlock,” Jim said, looking genuinely concerned as he stepped forward, “You had guessed right. I faked my death. Helped Mycroft with information so you could dismantle my web. Started over. Got rich again. Stayed legit. Came back from exile and Mycroft told me he wanted me to meet you because you were suffering. Then Mrs. Holmes said she would help, just in case you start being a bumbling idiot all over again.”

 

“Mummy it’s talking, the apparition is talking,” Sherlock felt giddy, breathless, unstable.

 

“Oh my God Willie, Jim….hold him” was what he heard as he collapsed, unconscious.

 

***

 

When Sherlock woke up he heard the faint strains of music and the warmth of a heavy blanket around him. He also felt well-rested and very hungry. At the same time, he also felt a sense of dread as he remembered the events of the previous evening. It was morning now, so definitely the dark night was over. It was a new day, a new year, he was still alive and tucked into his bed, which meant mummy was still around and had taken care of him after he had that meltdown….that vision…..Jim was standing before him and talking…..

 

“Good morning.”

 

Sherlock sat up, scratching his head. “Morning, sorry about last night. I hallucinated and I don’t know what came over me! Sorry. ”

“You should be. Poor Jim.”

 

“Poor Jim? You mean you saw him too!”

 

“Yes, as did Mrs. Hudson and that neighbourhood boy who comes over to do your laundry sometimes. They all saw him. Human beings are visible to other humans, you see!”

 

“Mum, Jim is dead….”

 

“Nooooo, I am noootttt!”

 

Sherlock jumped, “You are really alive?”

 

A wonderfully dishevelled, cute and dressed down Jim stood there, sipping tea. He was wearing one of Sherlock’s pajama bottoms, his own undershirt and Sherlock’s blue robe on top of that. “Yeah, apparently,” the criminal replied, “And yeah, everyone can see me.”

 

He sat down next to Sherlock and his hips brushed Sherlock’s knee. “Now please don’t faint again. It took three of us, Mrs. Hudson, your mam and me, to carry you to this bed.”

 

Things slowly began to form a cognizable shape in Sherlock’s head. He connected the dots swiftly, his mind now alert once again now that the depression and confusion of the night had been washed away by a long rest, and came to the conclusion that this was really Jim. Not the one in his mind palace, not the one in his dreams, nor the one in his imagination. They disappeared the moment he tried to touch them. They smelled of nothing.

 

He could touch this Jim. He could smell residual cologne and the man’s natural scent, the uniquely Jim scent that he remembered from their short and tumultuous association from the past. This one was real. JIM WAS BACK.

 

Mummy smiled at them both, “Let’s just say, I knew about him for a year. Mycroft told me and then I met him, as did your dad, and we decided as a family that Jim deserves another chance. As for you, no pressure to decide one way or the other, just don’t expect me to be happy if you say ‘no’.”

 

“How did you manage to get mummy advocating your cause?” Sherlock pinched himself, “Ouch, I am awake.”

 

“Of course, you are you silly little boy,” Mrs. Holmes patted his head and then placed her hand on Jim’s dishevelled locks, “Breakfast is out there in the kitchen, so don’t forget to have it when you’re done. I had promised Mrs. Hudson I shall accompany her to her little ‘Woman’s Club’ and talk about my so called mathematical genius days! By the way, that’s how Jim and I bonded as well. He is even better than I was, or I will ever be! He is the only man who beat your dad at chess so easily. And of course, the only man Mycroft says he needs from time to time.”

 

“Mummy,” Sherlock asked, “What did you say? When we are done? Done with what?”

 

“Shut up,” Jim was blushing.

 

“Why are you blushing now?”

 

“Oh just….keep quiet, just…..Gawd!”

 

Mrs. Holmes giggled merrily and left the room. Jim instantly turned and moved closer to Sherlock who easily lifted the bedclothes and let him underneath them, enjoying the warmth he brought in. “Your mum is cleverer than you or Myc are,” Jim said, “She knows how we’d ‘reconnect’. That was what she was talking about you silly virgin. She wants us to give us the privacy we need.”

 

“Ummm….yeah,” Sherlock grinned sheepishly, “But first, please, let me do this.”

 

He grabbed Jim by the back of his head and kissed him hard. At first Jim’s eyes widened but slowly they narrowed, the pupils dilated and the eyelids fluttered shut. Their tongues battled and both men moaned into their satisfying kiss.

 

“Wow,” Jim said as he pulled back.

 

“You’ve been living in US,” Sherlock smiled, heart suddenly light as a feather and mood as cheerful as a playful baby’s.

 

“Hmmm, yeah,” Jim replied, resting his head on Sherlock’s chest, “You really missed me huh?”

 

“More than you’d ever know. Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

 

“Protocols, promises, priorities to take care of and of course…..my treatment and therapy. I did get injured and I was severely bipolar. I am much better now. Even my meds are not as heavy or frequent as they used to be. I am safe now, for myself, for others, though I do need monthly visits to the shrink even now and biweekly meds to keep my moods stable. I am a legit businessman now Sherly.”

 

Sherlock sighed and adjusted their positions, this time laying his head on Jim’s chest. The heartbeat was very reassuring.

 

“I have so many questions for you but I have so many feelings too,” the detective murmured, checking Jim’s pulse and measuring his body heat, still hardly daring to believe this was happening, “No idea which one we should discuss first. I….I have waited so long for this without the least hope of it happening that….that it still seems very surreal to me. If I ask you repeatedly for the next few days if this is real, if you are real, be a good little Irishman and answer me with patience.”

 

Jim chuckled but unlike the other times it was not tinged by mania. He sounded refreshingly honest, cheerful and stable. “Now can we do what your mum left us alone in the flat for?”

 

Sherlock swallowed, shrinking back under the covers. “What?” Jim asked, surprised.

 

“I….ummm….”

 

“You don’t want me.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous…..I am just….um….”

 

“WHAT?”

 

Sherlock looked peeved and coy, “No longer a very young man. Lost lots of weight. Didn’t take much care. You may not like what you see! Jim, what are you doing, Jim…..Ohhhhh!”

 

Jim had disappeared under the covers.

 

It took three rounds and two hours for them to finally get sated enough to stop. They needed a nap but Sherlock decided to smoke first and Jim decided to bask in afterglow for a while. As the curly haired Englishman blew out smoke rings, the former criminal grabbed his phone and played the last song the detective had been listening to the night before.

 

_Will you still love me When I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me When I've got nothing but my aching soul?_

 

“I know you would,” Sherlock whispered as he stubbed the cigarette out, spooning Jim and closing his eyes.

 

***

 

Sherlock woke up to find Jim waking up next to him, making soft whiny sounds. “I need to use the toilet,” Jim jumped out of bed and ran, “Sorry, can’t be polite with a bursting bladder. Heat up the breakfast Sherrrrlyyy! I’m hungry, it’s 2 PM!”

 

Sherlock threw on the robe and headed to the kitchen, goofy grin on his face. Jim was back, Jim was really back. That amazing sex he had had a couple of hours ago was surely not with an imaginary figure or some phantom.

 

His arse was sore but the rest of him had healed so quickly, depression and loneliness seemed like a ‘myth’ to him now. He looked forward to the new year, to a new beginning! As he started popping the dishes into the oven to reheat them, his eyes fell on a note stuck on the refrigerator. When he stepped closer and read it, a big grin spread on his face and he nodded in agreement at what his mum had written for him, in a subtle indication of support and love. She had even drawn a smiley at the end of it.

 

_‘Remember Sherlock, mummy is always Santa Claus! Sorry Santa got a little delayed this year! Wishing you and Jim a wonderful new year and many more years of happiness!!!’_

 

“That’s what makes Santa Claus real,” Sherlock grinned and signed the note as ‘Willie’.

**Author's Note:**

> A slightly evil Sherlock and a slightly reformed Jim is the best M/M pair in the universe! Tee hee!
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone!


End file.
